La Petite Mort
by Amrun
Summary: Hermione Granger woke with a start.  She always did, these days.  She let the man next to her remain wrapped around her legs as she lounged, relishing the feeling of having slept.  Sleep had been a rare commodity in her life for quite some time now.  ...
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger woke with a start. She always did, these days. She let the man next to her remain wrapped around her legs as she lounged, relishing the feeling of having slept. Sleep had been a rare commodity in her life for quite some time now. She blinked, the light from the window burning her gummy eyes through the thin curtain. Realizing how late it must be, she cursed under her breath and untangled herself from his brown and muscled limbs. She was immediately impatient, but slid out of bed slowly so as not to wake him. If there was one thing she despised, it was mornings after, and she avoided them whenever possible. For this reason among many, she preferred spending her nights with faces that had no name or context within her life. It was easier that way. She dressed quickly and quietly, already regretting the breaking of one her cardinal rules – for this man was no stranger.

She located a bit of parchment and a nub of a quill and scribbled a quick note in her neat, sure handwriting. _"Lee – Sorry to rush out, but I didn't want to wake you. I have an early meeting to attend. – HG"_

As she finished, he began to stir; she scowled and clamped down on her illogical panic. With a soft _pop_, she was gone.

---

She was once again presented with the panoramic view of the grand castle and its grounds, iron gates rising forebodingly as the only barrier between where she was and where she wanted to be. She wrapped her hands around the cool black bars, feeling the strength in the rigid line of the metal and taking comfort in its solidarity. She'd always been struck by the beautiful juxtaposition of the straight rods and the flowery adornments at the top, intricately intertwined like vines woven around the twin hogs that rose above. She breathed deeply and something about the smell of the wet Scottish air eased her unspoken fear that the school would not welcome her as it once did. Somehow, in all the melee, Hogwarts had managed to remain Hogwarts; still, its call beckoned her to it like a Siren tempted sailors to the sea. Tentatively, she tapped the heavy lock with her wand as she'd been told. The iron shifted beneath her slightly callused hands as the gate slowly groaned open to admit her. Stepping almost reverently beyond the threshold, she let out a sigh of relief she didn't know she'd been harboring. She moved one step forward and then another until she was halfway across the grounds towards the stone structure that was so dear to her heart.

The castle doors swung open almost before she reached them, and hastily, she wiped a single tear away as she found herself in the Entrance Hall once more. She wanted to run as fast as she could to the Great Hall, to Gryffindor Tower, to the library, to all the places that had been hers what felt like so long ago – but jerkily, fumblingly, she slammed that train of thought out of existence before it furthered, knowing where it would lead her. Her first stop must be the Headmistress' office, she reminded herself forcefully. Nothing could happen before that. She began the all-too-familiar trek determined to make no stops, but couldn't resist the temptation the Great Hall presented. She paused to peek inside, and even though she knew what to expect, could not help but be shocked at its sheer emptiness without three hundred or so students filling it. Shaking her head forcefully, she turned away a bit too quickly. She was met with something more solid than she'd expected and let out a tiny gasp of surprise.

A familiarly sneering voice met her ears before her eyes identified the scene before her. "Ah, Miss Granger. I should have known. Your unfortunate presence explains why we, once again, have had to evict avid reporters from our premises. To what do we owe the extreme pleasure? Would _Witch Weekly _like to do a centerpiece with a more exciting backdrop?"

She timidly shrank from the unexpected contact and did not seem able to reply.

"Miss Granger," the man insisted again in a low, hissing tone, "I asked a simple, civil question. It is only polite to answer it."

Suddenly, her head snapped up and her nostrils flared in anger. Vitriol replaced introversion with almost violent immediacy. "It _would _be polite, wouldn't it, except that nothing is ever simple, or _civil _with you, _Professor _Snape. You wouldn't recognize 'polite' if it publicly defrocked you. _Sir._"

The change in her demeanor was sudden and shocking. Severus Snape regarded her coolly, his expression souring as his surprise registered.

"The question remains, Miss Granger, of why you are at Hogwarts."

"Why are _you _still at Hogwarts, Professor?"

"Miss Granger, I hardly see the relevance—"

"Don't you?" His scowl deepened, but he said nothing. "I'm here, Professor Snape, because I wish to be. Isn't that enough?" Their eyes met for an intense moment and froze, caramel to dark chocolate. He saw an unexpected steely glint in hers that hadn't been there _before_, and with a final leer, broke the contact with a swift departure and no offer of a reply.

Hermione, still bristling, quickened her pace until the first hint of a stone gargoyle came into view. She stopped in front of it to catch her breath and calm the pounding of blood in her eardrums. Eventually, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a slight whisper emerged. She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Cornish Rex." At the password, the stone creature blinked its sleepy eyes open and moved languidly aside to allow her to pass.

Her movements as she ascended the winding stairwell were careful, and perhaps more timorous than she would have liked. Her footsteps echoed in the small chamber, and when she let the brass knocker fall on the Headmistress' oaken door, the sound resonated.

After a nervous minute or so, the door swung open to reveal a slightly disheveled Minerva McGonogall still in her bathrobe. "Hermione," the woman said simply, setting the pastry in her hand aside. "I was not expecting you yet. I –"

"I came early," Hermione finished with a little grimace, feeling a bit like an errant student. "I'm sorry, Professor; I can come back later. I didn't mean to be an inconvenience."

The Headmistress waved her hand dismissively, cinching her robe tighter, and pushed her former star pupil into her office. "It's no trouble at all," she said, but her voice was as stern as it ever was.

Hermione walked tentatively inside the circular room, slightly surprised to see that Dumbledore's silver gadgets were gone, along with the rickety tables that had housed them – probably stored somewhere safe for posterity. The room was now strictly clean and properly arranged; it was still warm, but it seemed almost stark compared to her memory of Dumbledore's comfortable clutter. Professor McGonagall never was one to abide by disorganization.

At the Headmistress' gesture, Hermione took a seat opposite Dumbledore's – McGonagall's, now – desk.

"Miss Granger. Hermione." McGonagall paused here, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. "It has been quite some time."

"Yes," the girl replied, face blank.

"Forgive me, but I am not quite sure what you are here to discuss."

Hermione sighed. "To be honest, neither am I." She ignored the Headmistress' puzzled look and continued. "I know that I have been away for a long time. I understand why the few people I have left are upset that I went. That is not important to this conversation. I needed to leave, and I am not sorry that I did. But now, I feel just as strong a pull to be here as I did to get away five years ago."

"Here? In Scotland? England?"

"No. At Hogwarts. I feel that I need to be at Hogwarts. I can't give a better explanation because it doesn't exist. All I know is that I already feel better here than I have in years, and I'll take good feelings where I can get them. They've been rather scarce of late." Her eyes were distant, and after a short pause, she asked a question that shocked her counterpart. "Is it all right if I smoke in here?"

The Headmistress' eyebrows shot up into her hairline and her reply was stiff. "If you must."

Hermione lit a fag with her wand and contemplated as she took a drag. She was still a mess, and it must be obvious if McGonagall was already making such allowances for her. She knew perfectly well that smoking inside the castle was strictly prohibited. "Look, I'm sorry," she began. "I probably shouldn't have come, but I had to know if it would help. Knowing that it _does_ … maybe that makes it harder. But I had to know. I just wanted to know if I could come around sometimes, if I got too – if things just become too … much."

Professor McGonagall sat very still behind her desk, shocked into silence. After a moment, she made an effort to reply. "Of course you may visit, and however often as you like. I'll set the castle wards to allow you in."

Hermione exhaled a lungful of smoke and her shoulders slumped in release. "Thank you, Professor. That is very good to know." The relief was evident on her face and in the loosening of her posture.

"What are you planning to do now that you have your Charms certification?" McGonagall inquired, trying to sound nonchalant.

Hermione smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure, really. I've enough coin to keep letting a room from the Hog's Head for a little while, but I need to find work soon. I'm looking, but there's not a much available if you don't want to work for the Ministry."

"And you don't?" McGonagall asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Of course not," Hermione replied immediately. Her eyes were cold as she continued. "I've had enough of the sodding ministry to last a lifetime."

The corner of the Headmistress' mouth lifted slightly, as in a smile. "I think I quite agree with you on that point."

In a sudden movement, Hermione rose to her feet. She tapped her cigarette with her wand to extinguish it and tucked both in her robes. "I've taken enough of your time already." 

"No, no, it's my pleasure."

Hermione was shaking her head, though, saying, "Thank you for your hospitality, but I should be off now."

"Hermione. You can stay for tea, you know – maybe have a bit of a chat."

Hermione froze with her hand on the door. "Thank you, but I'm not the easiest person to be around anymore. I don't think I'm quite ready for any more of a chat than we've just had."

McGonagall didn't know what to make of that, really, so she nodded and said, "Go, then, but know that you are welcome at any time."

"Thank you, Minerva," the girl whispered, and was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

She was back at the Hog's Head. Still unable to face the ones she'd loved, she'd wandered around after she left Hogwarts, visiting familiar sites and shops. She had only been interested in a cursory browse, however, and boredom soon forced her to return to the pub. Finally back where she belonged, in the British wizarding world, she found that she no longer fit. She didn't know why she was surprised – this uneasiness was the main reason she'd left, after all. She'd thought that going to France would give her distance, that it would temper the nightmares and shield the guilt, but very little had changed. She hadn't fit there, either, but at least she had had the motions of apprenticeship to go through each day. Here – "home" – there was nothing but the flicking of ashes into a tray, the slight chink of ice cubes as she brought the glass to her lips and wasted, wasted away.

She needed a distraction. Last night, it had come in the form of Lee Jordan. He'd come up to her where she sat at the bar and offered to buy her a drink for old times' sake. Part of her hoped he would come again tonight, but part of her wished he would stay away for his own good.

All of a sudden, she was roused by a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see who it was and was blinded by a bright flash of light.

"What the –" she began angrily, rubbing her temporarily sightless eyes with the heels of her hands.

"Hermione! I'm sorry; that was terribly rude of me, but I was excited to see you here and forgot myself. Bad habit, I guess."

Hermione look at this strangely familiar man in expensive robes, sheepishly holding a camera and grinning with dashing certainty. No, it couldn't be –

"Remember me? It's –"

"Colin Creevey," she finished, "always with a bloody camera to his face."

"It saved my life once, you know," he said, winking congenially. "I've taken it as my good luck charm ever since."

She rolled her eyes and downed her drink in a practiced motion. "Some things never change."

He smiled widely, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. "Yes. I think you'll find that I'm much better at taking pictures now, most of the time. Can I sit down?" he said, but did not wait for a reply. Instead, he took the seat beside her and ordered them both drinks.

This was not the obnoxious but well meaning Colin she remembered. This Colin was more confident, for one, even arrogant, as if it had been a long time since someone had thought to refuse him.

"It's ah … nice to see you," Hermione began awkwardly.

"And you. You haven't been seen in Britain for years," Colin replied, brows furrowing in accusation. "I like to keep up with all my old friends, you know."

"You're – well – different, I suppose."

"You're no Head Girl yourself these days, from the looks of it," he retorted.

"I never was, if you'll recall," she replied, letting a touch of bitterness creep into her voice.

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Well, you would've been, if you'd stayed. Everyone knows that."

There was a long pause. This – unexpectedly coming across someone associated with her old life – was something she'd tried to prepare herself for, but she knew her current calm wouldn't last. She wanted nothing more than to make her excuses and flee, but she needed to face what she had run away from for so long. She'd always had something of a masochistic streak in her, after all. The silence was oppressive, so she spoke.

"How is Dennis?"

"He's doing well. He's working in the Ministry now."

"Glad to hear it. And yourself?"

"Me? You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

He looked bewildered, as if he couldn't fathom anyone being so ignorant. "I'm almost as famous as Neville Longbottom, I am!"

His indignation was too great; she couldn't contain herself. An unfamiliar feeling bubbled in her chest and it took her a moment to recognize it – laughter. "Neville?"

"Yes. Neville Longbottom, The-Man-Who-Killed-Voldemort!" Colin said very quickly, as if by rote.

Hermione couldn't stop giggling. Of course it wasn't funny that a boy who was sweet but could barely brew his own Pepper-Up had defeated the Dark Lord when Harry had died in a valiant effort, but the absurdity of it had waited until just now to strike her.

Colin looked quite disconcerted. "Really, now, you shouldn't mock the most celebrated man of our times like that. I thought you liked him."

"I do. I'm not mocking him, I just – I did like him. He was loyal and brave and he had a good heart," she said, sobering.

"Was?"

"Is. I haven't talked to him in ages. Now, excuse me, but how did you –" she fought another bout of laughter "—attain such celebrity as to approach dear Neville's?"

"I'm the most sought-after journalist in the UK, I am," he said, smiling. "My first big break came with my insider's account of the final battle."

"Hmm," Hermione mused, unsure of what to make of that. "Well, congratulations, then."

"And what of you? What job is worthy of Hermione Granger?"

It was an innocent question, intended to flatter, and Hermione tried to turn the corners of her mouth up, but her expression contorted into something more closely resembling a grimace.

"None," she said.

Colin laughed. "None? Cocky, aren't we?"

She smiled genuinely this time. "No. I mean that I am currently unemployed."

"Oh. I see. In the market, then? Didn't you work in France?"

"I was studying for my certification, apprenticing to a Charms Master."

He seemed to consider this. "I would have pegged you for Transfiguration."

"Really? I also considered Potions. But you – journalism. Makes perfect sense."

"Before the war, what did you want to do?" Colin asked.

Hermione was surprised to find that she didn't really know. "Well, there really was no 'before the war.' When I first came to Hogwarts, everything was new. I didn't know enough of the wizarding world to have any idea what I wanted, and by the end of our first year, we were already fighting Voldemort. So it was mostly just me being a frizzy-haired sponge with my hand perpetually in the air. My only plan was to do as well as possible. There was no time for anything else. The war was more important. Staying alive, keeping Harry alive, was more important. I didn't even end up finishing school."

She felt it now, the rush of panic just underneath her skin. It churned her stomach and brought bile to her mouth. This was the normal reaction she'd been waiting for – always, it was only a matter of time.

"If – if you'll excuse me, I really must go now. Nice talking to you again," she choked, rising from her barstool so quickly that it almost toppled over. She hurried away, leaving him sitting there with a befuddled look on his face. Her shins knocked against the stairs as she stumbled up to her rented room where she collapsed on the bed with a sob.

_Author's Note_: This story is, quite obviously, AU since DH. Sorry I took so long to update -- the chapter was written long before I even posted the first one. Work, general life, and reading Deathly Hallows got in the way.


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